


Bingo Prompt: "Why didn't you call me before it got this bad?"

by taylor_tut



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Good Friend Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker Friendship, Sick Character, Sick Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29525886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: Tim has Jon's house key for emergencies and Jon is a no-call no-show for work. Season one babey
Comments: 9
Kudos: 116





	Bingo Prompt: "Why didn't you call me before it got this bad?"

"Has anyone heard from Jon today?" Elias asks midday on Monday morning, a question which, when asked in regard to anyone else might not be so alarming, but because it's Jon, grabs Tim's attention faster than a fire alarm. 

"He's not in his office?" 

Elias smiles blankly. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be asking if he were." 

Typical. Polite and rude at the same time; Tim doesn't know how he manages that. 

"That's not like Jon," Sasha frets, and Tim can't help but agree. "Do you think something happened?" 

"Have you tried calling him?" 

Elias nods. "His mobile went to voicemail. I also tried his email, because. Well, it's Jon. I assumed he might be more responsive to that." 

"And nothing?" 

When he shakes his head, Tim sighs. "I'll try him, too." 

"Do let me know if you hear anything, will you?" With that, Elias disappears, and Tim turns concerned eyes on his friends. 

"I've never seen Jon call out; not even for a sick day or holiday. I have a bad feeling." 

Martin frowns. "It's not possible that he just overslept?"

"It's 10:30, Martin. And I think you've worked here long enough to know that when something weird happens around this place, it's never the simplest explanation." 

Tim nods. "We've got each other's spare keys. If we haven't heard anything from him by noon, I'll go check in at lunch."

Tim gets very little work done for the next hour and a half. He tries his best to distract himself, to think of how angry Jon will be when he comes back and finds that the stack of files he's asked Tim to follow up has hardly been touched in his absence, but it does little good. The nagging feeling of something being awfully wrong just won't go away, and by 11:59, he's already got his car keys in his hands. 

"Have you actually been to Jon's flat?" Martin asks as Tim shuffles his half-done work away into folders and drawers. "What's it look like?" 

"I'm picturing white walls and furniture covered in plastic, empty cupboards and full bookshelves." 

Tim allows himself a smile. "I've never been inside," he admits.

"I thought you two were close."

"Yeah. Well, being 'close' with Jon means we get dinner once a month after work. It's... a different kind of friendship." 

"Sort of adorable, in its own way," Sasha says. 

"Isn't it?" He stands, double checks that he's got everything he needs in case he ends up calling out the rest of the day, and waves. "I'll update in the group chat when I know what's up." 

"Take care of him, Tim," Sasha calls, and with that, Tim heads out the door. 

He seems to miss every traffic light on the way to Jon's flat, giving his mind plenty of time to run with the possibilities. He's heard rumors about the goings-on in the Institute before he worked here--murders, shady characters, visits from monsters. They've already seen more than their fair share of horrifying items in artifacts storage, as much as Jon likes to discount them as regular trinkets and antiques. Tim has found that he doesn't sleep as easily as he used to before he'd worked here, even if he does have the self-satisfaction of feeling like he's doing the only thing he can possibly do for Danny's memory.

When he arrives at Jon's flat, however, he's suddenly overpowered with the realization that this might be a horrible idea. After all, what if Jon really did just oversleep, or some kind of family emergency popped up and he didn't think to call? Does Jon even have people close enough to him to qualify as a family emergency? 

Before he can talk himself out of it, he knocks on the door. 

"Hey, Boss; it's Tim," he calls loudly. He waits. No reply. "I came by because no one has heard from you; Martin's worried sick. Are you home?" Again, nothing. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. "Fuck. Jon, I'm going to come in, alright? So, if you're in there, just. Don't attack me or anything." 

Slowly, desperately still hoping somewhere in his heart that Jon will reply and tell him to go away, Tim removes his key from his pocket and slides it into the lock, turns the handle, and pushes in the door. 

Jon's apartment is nothing like Tim thought it would be in that it's rather unremarkable, almost looking like his own. It's a bachelor pad in its purest form: slightly messy, but not dirty, simple but functional furniture, clutter on the coffee table and not much decoration on the walls. It's a comfortable space, minimalistic but not cold. 

He almost lets himself get distracted, but shuffling from down the hall reminds him why he's here. 

"Hey, Jon," he calls--the last thing he wants to do is scare him if Jon's been sleeping. "You didn't show up to work, so I came to check on you. Are you alright?" 

After a beat, he hears more shuffling, then the unmistakable sound of things clattering to the floor. Tim hurries down the hall to find Jon in his bathroom, collapsed on one elbow. The crashing sound, it appears, had come from an attempt to pull himself up using the sink, which had knocked over a toothbrush and its holder, toothpaste, and mouthwash. 

"Jesus," Tim exclaims, rushing forward to support him as he tries to push himself into a sitting position again. He can tell Jon's been ill, and from the looks of him, pale and sweaty and shaky and without a cup of water in sight, he's not been tolerating it well. "You look awful. How long have you been sick?" 

Jon groans. "All weekend," he replies, and while Tim had been expecting the answer to be bad, it still makes his heart clench. 

"Have you been able to hold down any water?" 

Jon shakes his head. "Not since this morning." 

Though he wants to lecture him, Tim decides that Jon probably knows he's in over his head, and he doesn't need to be kicked while he's down. "Okay. I'm going to take you to a clinic, okay? They'll give you something for the nausea, some fluids, but I don't think we can hydrate you here if you've been throwing up all morning." 

To his surprise, Jon nods, allows Tim to help him to his feet, where he wavers dizzily. And he can't hold his tongue completely. 

"Why wouldn't you call me before it got this bad?" 

"It was fine... 'til four in the morning. Phone was in my room," he replies simply, not the answer he'd been expecting but one that explains things a bit. It actually makes him laugh. 

"That's all? Seriously?" 

Jon wavers again, and Tim doesn't miss a beat, doesn't let him feel unstable or fall. 

"I'm glad you're here." 

Tim squeezes his arm. "Yeah, yeah. You're welcome. Next time, text earlier, yeah? Then I can check up on you some time before I'm peeling you off your floor." 

Jon rolls his eyes, staggers when it turns out to be a bad idea, as Tim helps him into his coat and shoes. He'd thought Jon had given him his key in case he needed someone to water his plants while he's out of town, but now he thinks maybe there was a little more to it.

Perhaps he'll ask Jon to dinner more than once a month, once the nausea passes. 


End file.
